


scomiche one shots

by croptopmitch



Category: Superfruit
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-13 18:30:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16023536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/croptopmitch/pseuds/croptopmitch
Summary: I was just thinking about the 1 million subscribers livestream in like 2014 when s said m was his 'prized possession'. Somehow, that convoluted into a vintage (50's??? 60's??) housewife scenario. Idk. I just also think it's cute to imagine baby bangs Mitch wearing pearls and vacuuming.





	1. Chapter 1

The club was packed to the brim. Some early 2000s deep house track that Mitch couldn't quite place was blaring in the background as he entered with Scott's reassuring hand on his back. The whole squad was meeting here tonight to celebrate the end of tour. Mitch was anxious to get his hands on a drink and get to the fun, tipsy part of clubbing, instead of the first few minutes of being sober and surrounded by sweaty drunks. Luckily, the VIP booth, reserved under 'Hoying', was meant to be stocked with champagne. The couple slid into one of the booths before greeting everyone and anticipating a chill night out with some of their best friends.

\--

15 minutes later and Mitch was on the dancefloor in state of enjoyable intoxication. He felt weightless, but still grounded and protected by the solid wall of muscle pressed against his back and the arm wrapped around his thin frame. 

"What do you want from the bar, babe?" Scott whispered in his ear, his breath smelled like a dizzying combination of mint, and Corona with lime. Mitch rubbed circles into the arm around his waist and looked up at Scott. He looked even more handsome than usual, with his auburn scruff and a distressed denim jacket. The outfit screamed Dom Top, and that was Mitch's favorite Scott look. Mitch craned his neck to murmur in the tall boy's ear.

"Whatever you wanna get me, Daddy."

Scott smirked down at his boy and kissed his neck, a silence assurance that he'd be right back with their drinks. He left Mitch and managed his way past the sweaty and drunken bodies to the bar. Finding a too-small stool to fit in, he waited for the bartender to finish... tending the bar.

"What can I get you, son?" He was built as hell and definitely older, sporting salt and pepper hair with a matching beard. Scott set his empty glass bottle on the counter, "Another beer for me, and a vodka tonic." The gray haired man started on the drinks. "Is the tonic for the little brunet you left on the floor?" he asked.

Scott smiled proudly at the mention of Mitch and replied, "Yeah, my boyfriend." The bartender hummed in understanding and nodded. "You two are quite the pair," he replied in a kind tone. Scott took that as a compliment and thanked the man, then sat in a comfortable silence as he made the drinks.

In the middle of pouring Mitch's tonic, the bartender set down his shaker. He caught Scott's attention, pointing somewhere behind them on the dancefloor.

"Hey man, it doesn't look like your lil' brunet knows that guy." He warned, eyebrows furrowed in concern. Scott spun around abruptly, trying to follow where the bartender was gesturing. When he finally saw Mitch's profile, rage bloomed in the pit of his stomach.

Mitch was pressed up against a wall, struggling to free himself from some unknown man's grasp. The douche had dark, slicked back hair and was wearing the world's tightest black tee. Before he realized he had even gotten up, Scott had crossed the bar, and was nose-to-nose with the overly fake tanned bastard.

"Did you just touch him?"

"Yeah, what are you gonna do about it?"

Scott stepped forward to position Mitch behind him before shoving the jerk, "I'm gonna fuck you up, That's what." The gross man was obviously drunk off his ass and staggered back significantly, before running towards Scott with a sloppy punch. It missed him completely, so Scott grabbed the man by his shirt and connected a quick punch to his face. Mitch yelped at the sound of the hit and tried to move around Scott to get a closer look, but the blond extended his arm to keep Mitch securely behind him. The orange asshole was laid out on the ground until the club bouncers could carry him out a few moments later.

 

Scott lead a completely stunned and still incredibly tipsy Mitch out of the building. Once they were outside, he assessed and scanned the boy's body, checking for any injury, before holding his face in his hands.

"Are you okay, baby? Did he hurt you? Did he touch you anywhere—"

"Scott! I'm fine! Calm down," he slurred.

"What did he say to you?"

"Scotty, I'm Fiiine!! What about you, though. Does your hand hurt? You punched the shit out of that guy." Scott looked Mitch in the eye, almost incredulous that he was worrying about his hand, rather than being felt up by that creep just 5 minutes ago. "I would kill someone for you," he vowed.

"That's really intense," Mitch deadpanned. Scott rolled his eyes and wrapped his arms around the boy, just glad that he was safe and didn't seem upset. "You're so drunk. Let's get you home, Angel," he sighed, pecking his temple with a chaste kiss.

 

A/N

Hi. So, this was written quickly and probably could've been better, but here is my first oneshot! I got the inspiration from one of their many recent live.me streams. Hope you liked it. :)

-Talis❤️


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was just thinking about the 1 million subscribers livestream in like 2014 when s said m was his 'prized possession'. Somehow, that convoluted into a vintage (50's??? 60's??) housewife scenario. Idk. I just also think it's cute to imagine baby bangs Mitch wearing pearls and vacuuming.

It's been a hard day at the office. Nothing but paperwork, meetings, and phone calls. I tend to get home around 6:30, but a quick glance at my watch tells me it's almost 7. Dammit.

I turn onto our quiet street. It's a row of single level houses, similarly styled, but in different pastel shades. It's a lovely neighborhood, where girls with pigtails and silky bows jump rope in the front yards and a young man delivers papers on his bike. 

Finally, I park in the driveway of our home, painted a pale blue with crisp white window shutters. The garden is filled with blooming chrysanthemums. His favorite.

I unlock the front door, crossing the threshold onto freshly vacuumed carpet. As I start to loosen my tie, the smell of tonight's dinner fills my senses.

"Honey?"  
"Yes, dear?"

I followed that sweet voice into the kitchen and there he was, my prized possession, taking lasagna out of the oven, an apron tied tightly around his slim waist. I leaned against the doorway, watching those dainty legs strut around the kitchen in a pair of red, high waisted, cropped slacks. He cut a large corner piece, then a significantly smaller one, and plated them each next to a salad.

"How do you always know exactly when to serve dinner, no matter what?"

"A wife's intuition, dearest," he replied with a smirk before opening the wine glass cabinet. "Though, if you were any later, I'd assume you were fooling around with your secretary."

"Karen is 67," I remarked to his turned back. He was never able to reach that top shelf without help. I crossed the kitchen and lifted him by the hips without any strain. When I brought him back down, he turned in my arms with two glasses in hand.

"Well, I don't know what you like." He giggled with the slyest grin on his plump lips until I kissed it away.

I pulled back after a moment to see his eyes still closed and a different kind of smile on his face. He's always been so heartbreakingly beautiful and wholeheartedly mine.

"You are what I like."

He responded with a soft laugh, resting a manicured hand on my chest, "Go sit at the table, you beast."

I sat in my usual spot, and a moment later he appeared with our dinner. He poured the wine while I grazed a hand down his back, sneaking a quick pinch to his butt as he scurried to his own seat.

"So," He started when he reached his chair, placing a napkin in his lap. "How was work?"

~

"Dinner was amazing, sweetheart. It always is, but you know how I feel about your lasagna."

After our second glass of wine (and my second helping of dinner), I grew tired of my love sitting across the room and beckoned him onto my lap. He eagerly perched cross legged on my thighs, weighing nearly nothing and smelling of Chanel. "That's why I make it, baby. I know it's your favorite." He picked up my fork and took a bite of the caesar salad left on my plate.

"You need more green vegetables in your diet, dear," he implored.

"I think you might need less green vegetables in your diet. You might float away from my lap right now."

"I'm watching my weight," he stated, smoothing his already perfectly pressed white blouse. I squeezed his waist a little tighter in concern.

"Watching for what?"

My question went unanswered, he just took a quick sip of my wine, his eyes darting around our dining room until I took hold of his chin. "I asked you a question, sweetheart."

He wrapped both hands around my wrist, prying my hand away from his face. Digging his thumbs into the flesh of my palm, he tried to massage away my worry. "It's no big thing, honey. It's a part of our system. You work so hard at the firm. You keep pearls in my ears and a beautiful roof over our heads. I cook, clean, and stay pretty for you. It's not a bad trade off."

I shook my head in frustration, adjusting him in my lap until he was straddling me and we sat eye to eye.

"Mitchell, look at me. Sure, it's nice to come home to all this. You always go the extra mile to make sure I'm comfortable, but I come home for you. That's it. Not for your cooking or how many pounds you weigh. I'd wait on you hand and foot, if it would make you happy. Understand?"

"I understand," he sighed.

"So that's final. No more talk of losing any weight, right? If you feel any less than absolutely stunning, you come to me."

"...Yes, dearest."

I paused, then lifted him in my arms. He gasped and his thighs tightened around my waist. I slipped one hand under his firm butt, the other caressed his gorgeous face, the curve of his neck, the softness of his cheek.

"You forgot my other job, making sure you know how beautiful and special you are. Apparently, I haven't been doing that well enough."

He opened his pouty mouth to object, but a thorough kiss was enough to quiet any protest. "Come on, baby. Let me prove it to you. Let me be the boss."

He sighed as his body and mind visibly relaxed. He always gave in to me so well. "Yeah, okay... you're the boss."

"That's right, honey. I am." By the time we got to our bedroom, his button down hung loosely off those thin shoulders and he was flushed with need. I tossed him onto the bed and took my cufflinks and tie off while he finished undressing. "Daddy?"

The pet name made me smirk. We were in for a long night. I turned to face my love, smiling at his disheveled curls, smooth skin, and silky black briefs. 

"Yes, darling."  
"Come touch me? Please?"

I stepped forward to the edge of our bed, pulling him towards me by one ankle. The silk panties slipped off his legs with 2 quick tugs. "I'm a lucky man," I mumbled. He was completely shaven, and my index and middle fingers slipped inside with ease. He let out a soft, almost obscenely feminine sigh.

"You prepped for me?" I asked, adding a third digit to stretch him further.

"I always wanna be--ooh!--ready for when you come home."

I pulled my fingers out and replaced them quickly with my cock. In one slow thrust, he took all of me. "Oh god I love you," he whispered in a single breath.

"I love you so much, baby," I rocked into him again. "Words can't even describe." He looked so pliant, so fragile and pretty, but that didn't stop me from picking up the pace, fucking him hard until the air left his lungs. Something about him made me feel like an absolute animal.

"You'll come like this, if I tell you to. You'll come without me touching you." I'd seen him do it, but that sort of torture was for another night.

"Please... Scott! Please."  
"It's okay baby. I know what you need."

I stroked him in a slow rhythm, taking in the scene below me. His legs spread wide open for me, one resting on my shoulder while I claimed his tight ass over and over again. 

"You drive me crazy, you know that?"

He went silent for a beat, every one of his lithe muscles contracting until he shot onto his own stomach. A milky white stain contrasting with his olive skin. The sight of him so relaxed and satisfied, plus the way he spasmed around me was enough to bring me to my own climax. He hummed at the sensation of being full of me. He loved being mine.

I tried to pull out, only for him to dig his nails into my back.

"No no no," he whined. "Just a little bit longer."

I chuckled smugly and changed the angle of my hips, making him take me even deeper. He rewarded me with a gorgeous moan, and I peppered his face with kisses, attacking his neck with playful growls and bites.

"Doesn't make sense how I'm still so deeply in love with you. There's nothing more I could ever want. I have this perfect little life here. And you, my dear, are the perfect little wife."


End file.
